12 Days of Royai
by justanotherfmawriter
Summary: A prompt challenge where each chapter must revolve around a number (I.E. 1st Day in Office, 2 Points of View). The stories are set in the FMA:Brotherhood world and range from their childhood to post-Promised Day. There will be an upload a day every day until Christmas! The themes will range from humorous, to angst, to a little of everything. Rated T for some suggestive themes.
1. Day 1: First Day in Office

_A/N: And here's the first chapter! I finally got back into writing, so I apologize in advance! I love these character and wanted to get some ideas out. They're a lot of fun to write. This is for Roy's first day in office. Fitting, since this is what they've been dreaming of for so long. Enjoy!  
_

* * *

Riza strolled into work at precisely 0500, like she had every other morning. Normally, she would've already started on her second cup of coffee by now, but today was different. There was a lot of chatter around the office. It only made sense; Roy Mustang was starting his first day as Fuhrer of Amestris. He wouldn't be in for another two hours, but everyone was already alive with anticipation. She had barely slept last night and doubted she'd need anything to keep her stimulated. Roy said he had plans already for his first day. He'd been in meetings for the past few weeks, getting everything ready for his formal transition.

When she was greeted with nearly 50 boxes stacked inside her new office, she was a bit taken aback. A small, white chess piece was perched on the one closest to the door. It was an elegantly carved Queen. A small, reserved smile graced her features. '_He does love his metaphors,' _she mused quietly to herself. '_Only he could have this prepared in advance. He's always 5 steps ahead.' _She noticed a memo attached to the same box and picked it up.

_Captain Hawkeye,_

_We've come so far. Thank you for having my back. Now I want to have yours. Please distribute these to the appropriate personnel. It's time we make Amestris a better place. I want our future to look so much better than we ever thought._

_R_

Riza shook her head, taking a moment to let it all in. As she took out her knife and cut through the tape, she tried to wrap her head around how far they'd come. If there was ever a man who deserved to be Fuhrer it was Roy Must-

The newly minted Captain wasn't sure what she should have expected to find inside the boxes, but this was _**not **_it. Her hands sought purchase on the material that was alarmingly similar to her uniform she was wearing. She pulled out the garment that was too short to be anything but-

'_**That son of a bitch.'**_

Roy Mustang strutted into work at 0630 that morning. To say he had been anticipating this day would be an understatement. He was saluted by officers and enlisted alike. As he made it further into the building, he continued to search for a particular blond adjutant. He passed her office, which was conveniently locked and dark. He was mildly disappointed. Roy had hoped she had already received his 'gift' to her. He had planned it so she would find it when she came in for work, which was always way too early for his taste.

He was still mulling over where she might have gone to when he got to his office. Someone had taped a Queen chess piece to the thick wood door. A lopsided grin reached his face and he pulled the small figurine off. When he opened the door and flicked the lights on, a brief laugh erupted from his lips.

There, in the large expanse of his office, were 50 cardboard boxes and what remained of what were sure to be very attractive mini-skirts. He picked up one of the tattered pieces of fabric, admiring the number of bullet holes in them. The boxes themselves had also been completely decimated. He wandered over to his desk, stepping around the damaged clothing and spotted a single sheet of paper. The new Fuhrer sat down in his oversized chair and read the contents.

_Dear Fuhrer Mustang,_

_Although you have come a long way, you still have a long way to go on this path. _

_Take care not to fall off it. _

R

Roy set down the paper, glancing up when a young officer came in, holding a stack of files. The boy's eyes widened as he took in the mess in the new Fuhrer's office.

"Sir? Is everything alright?"

"Oh yes, there was just a bit of a whirlwind that came in a little while ago."

As the officer fumbled over himself to drop off the files and leave, Roy leaned back in his chair. He was beginning to think that he really liked his new position.

Now he just had to find someone to clean all this – and some way to explain why 300,000 cenz from the Uniforms budget was missing.


	2. Day 2: Two Points of View

_A/N: Day 2! This one is centered around how different perspectives can totally change the situation. Poor Roy. Enjoy!_

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Madame Christmas had been enjoying a rare, quiet evening in her bar when the door burst open. Her nephew stumbled in, breathless. Roy's wide eyes searched the room to make sure no one was there.

"Roy boy, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Chris asked. Roy was too busy shutting and locking the door behind him. He closed the curtains and exhaled shakily.

Chris repeated her question, leaning against the bar and frowning. Roy shook his head, his face drawn and pale. The broad woman huffed, trying not to let her concern show. "Roy!"

The young officer jolted to attention. "G-g-ghost."

Madame Christmas extinguished her cigarette in an ashtray and pulled out a bottle of hard liquor and a set of glasses. One of the girls, Vanessa, poked her head out of the side room curiously.

"Roy, dear, you aren't making any sense. What about a ghost?" Chris pressed, sliding a glass towards the shaken male.

"I was at the g-graveyard, er, visiting. And I s-saw a…..a ghost."

Vanessa eased out to the main room, gasping appropriately and running her fingers through Roy's hair soothingly. Two of the other girls joined her, their interest piqued. Madame Christmas remained unimpressed.

"A ghost? And what kind of ghost exactly?"

Roy started gesturing wildly. "It was the _Lady in White_." The girls collectively gasped. Christmas rolled her eyes, pouring another glass for the both of them. "Oh please_, Roy_ _Boy_, no that again."

The dark eyed alchemist hit the table with his hand. "She's _real_, I swear. I was visiting Hu- I was in the cemetery and she was _there_. I didn't see her at first, but the temperature. It was suddenly cold. I couldn't even light a flame with my lighter. And she was in front of me, on the other side of the cemetery. She was in this long, white dress. She was _glowing_, like the most beautiful and frightening thing I've ever seen. I could see her floating between the gravestones, like she was searching for someone. I think she was looking for her dead lover. Just like the stories. She would stop at one, gazing at it, and then move on. At first, I thought it was a person, but then-" Roy shivered, his fingers trembling. "I heard her _voice. _Like the crying of an animal. It was this long, high pitched howl. It was so terrifying. I must've yelled, because she turned to me. She started moving towards me and I ran. I just kept running and prayed she wouldn't find me. I-I've never been more scared in my life…_" _

Vanessa and the girls tutted affectionately, ruffling his hair and consoling him. Madame Christmas looked underwhelmed by his story. Still, she waved a finger towards the staircase. "Well, go get settled down. I don't imagine you're planning on leaving anytime soon. I'll have you know I'll be charging you full price for the room. Tall tales won't get you any discounts – family or not."

Roy left the empty glass and was guided upstairs by his adopted sisters, re-enacting the spirit's movements and telling the history of the Lady in White. Madame Christmas chuckled to herself, cleaning out the glasses. She was just putting them up when a curt knock came from the door. Chris jumped despite herself. Swearing quietly to herself, she unlocked the door and opened it, nearly shouting in alarm. At the door, dressed in a long white skirt and jacket, was a very spectre-like Riza Hawkeye. Her blonde hair hung loose over shoulders and her skin looked almost alabaster in the evening moon's light.

"Well I'll be damned, Riza. What're you doing here at this hour?"

The young soldier looked mildly perturbed. "Is the Colonel here, by any chance?" she asked stoically. Chris laughed loudly, gesturing for the blonde to step inside. "He is. Come in."

Riza stepped inside, standing somewhat uncomfortably in the bar. Madame Christmas noted her straight back and the way the skirt fluttered around her with every movement. "I imagine you've been wandering around the cemetery this evening, Miss Hawkeye?"

Riza looked visibly startled, her amber eyes searching the older woman's face. "I have. Did Colonel Mustang-"

Chris shook her head, chuckling. "He seemed a little shaken up, that Roy Boy. It turns out that he happened across a _ghost _this evening, while visiting his friend's grave. A _lady in white_. He's upstairs resting right now."

The sharpshooter quickly looked over her choice in clothing and let out a soft 'ah.' She smoothed out her skirt self-consciously and sighed. "I was looking for him, actually. It's almost the anniversary of General Hughes', well, you know, and the Colonel has a habit of spending his evenings out there. I was just making sure he had…the proper security."

Madame Christmas let the weak excuse slide by. She wouldn't grill the young officer on her feelings for Chris's favorite nephew. That would come later. "He said it suddenly got really cold. He heard a howling, too."

Hawkeye snorted, loosening the ties on her jacket. "You mean the cold front that's been due to come in tonight? Black Hayate was not particularly fond of the weather, or that we came in on the wrong side of the graveyard and got turned around."

Madame Christmas made herself another drink, humming in understanding. "Sounds about right. Looks like you gave your commanding officer a pretty good scare."

Riza swept her bangs out of her face and shrugged. "I heard someone shouting and saw somebody run away. I wasn't sure if it was the Colonel and chased after him. I wasn't sure if he was hurt or not. It looked like he was heading this general direction, so I followed him. Clearly, he is not one for ghosts."

Chris nodded in agreement. "I can go fetch him for you, if you'd like. I doubt he's asleep yet and the girls are more than likely coddling him like a toddler."

The blonde thought it over for a second and shook her head. "That's not necessary, Madame. As long as he's okay. Perhaps in the future he'll be more careful about wandering through gravesites without me."

Chris showed her out, thanking the young woman for stopping by. She admired the girl's tenacity and somewhat cruel way of teaching the boy lessons. It was obvious the girl loved him. You could hear it in the way she talked about him. There was no other reason for her to chase after him out-of-uniform, in the middle of the night, through a cemetery and down the streets of Amestris. Still, they had roles to play, and Chris knew as well as anyone how determined her Roy boy was at achieving his dream.

As she turned out the lights and headed upstairs, she wondered when Roy would finally stop worrying about the country for once and stop running away from his Lady in White. After all, his Lieutenant looked stunning in a white gown.


	3. Day 3: Three Things Roy Wished For

_A/N: I apologize for the spam of chapters on the first day. I started posting these to my tumblr (justanotherfmablog) and wanted to get caught up to today, which is supposed to be Day 3. But hey, at least you get a couple chapters at once! I sincerely hope you enjoy this! This one is centered around some good ol' Roy and Maes drinking! :)_

* * *

Roy Mustang loved a lot of things about his best friend. He did not, however, love the man's ability to get him to drink an obscene amount of liquor. That was the only reason Roy was out on a Saturday night, halfway through a bottle of some very strong spiced rum.

"Okay. Three things."

Roy looked at his friend through a slight haze. "What?"

Maes set down his glass, grinning at the dark haired alchemist. "If you could get three wishes, anything you could possibly dream of, what would they be?"

"We are not playing this game, Hughes."

"Okay, fine, I'll go first. Wish number 1: I would wish to have the most beautiful wife in the world."

Roy scoffed. "You mean Gracia? The woman you're already married to?"

Maes laughed, slapping Roy on the back. "Engaged, my friend! We're only engaged! I wish that I could already be married to her! There's still a chance some swaggering guy could kidnap her and trick her into falling in love with him. No ideas, Mustang, you hear?"

The fellow soldier rolled his eyes. "Deal."

Maes elbowed him. "Soo, what's your first wish?"

Roy thought it over for a moment and smirked. "Easy. I would want to be Fuhrer."

Hughes poured them each another glass and nodded. "Well that much is obvious. My second wish would be an open bar in Central just for me. Free alcohol, all the time. That would be amazing."

The Flame Alchemist laughed, slinging an arm around his friend. "Only if the bar was full of beautiful women – _in mini skirts. _Shirts optional. That would be my second wish."

The fellow officer elbowed him in the ribs, laughing in return. "Well my third wish would be for you to find a damn wife already. You'll never make it to Fuhrer if you can't settle down."

"Riza."

Maes Hughes choked on his drink, his eyes wide. "What?"

Roy paused, recalling that thinking often _preceded _speaking. _Dammit Maes, this is why I don't go out to drink with you._

"My third wish would be for Lieutenant Hawkeye to quit hounding me with paperwork. The damn woman never leaves me alone. I'd be a helluva lot happier without her always behind me."

Maes gave his friend a look that was both suspicious and apologetic. Roy finished another drink, hoping the images of a particular blonde woman would leave him alone. He didn't dare talk any further about the woman he had considered his right hand man, his other half, his Queen. Maes discreetly switched to safer topics. Roy was grateful for the change. The rum had already swept his imagination far away from the lighthearted conversation with his best friend. It was hard enough for Roy to try to ignore the sudden images of his Lieutenant waking up in his bed every morning without the fear of a court martial.

Later that night, in the privacy of his own apartment, he would see the ghost of her at his kitchen stove, making peach cobbler, or sitting at the table, cleaning her handguns with well-practiced precision. He would blearily mistake his military jacket for hers and pretend that it wasn't his own distinct male scent that lingered on the clothing. He would wonder, in his alchemical way, what he would have to exchange in order to get his unspoken wish. What would the gods equivocate to the feel of kissing her with reckless abandon? How would they measure the energy he felt surge through him when their hands brushed against each other? What would he have to sacrifice for the chance at a real future with the woman he could not survive without? Just this once, in the darkness of his silent apartment, he could admit it to himself. His world was spinning, but he had accepted this truth.

Roy knew, without a doubt, he would pay it. No matter what the price.


	4. Day 4: Four Times They Forgot Themselves

_A/N: Sooo, I kind of let this get away from me. I mean, it's almost 5,000 words. #SorryNotSorry Anyhoo, this is written in both Roy's and Riza's points of view. I also have a nice mix of happy/fun and angsty/sad. Hope you're up for a rollercoaster! I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. This is such a fun fandump that I can't stop. Deal with it. Part 3 is lovingly ripped off taylortot's Drunk!Riza Headcanon from Tumblr. I loved her drawings and have now made them into fanfiction form! Again, deal with it! Someone take my computer away from me. Enjoy!_

* * *

(Part 1: Children)

Riza had always prided herself on her discipline. She could resist almost anything she deemed inappropriate. Since she was small, she had always been praised for being a respectful child. Roy, she suspected, had not. They had a rare day off of studies and had wandered out to the nearby lake where the other kids in the town often went over summer break. Roy's lanky legs dangled over the edge of the pier, his black hair shining in the early morning sunlight. He had rolled his slacks up to his knees and was trying to inch close enough to the edge to skim his toes across the glassy surface of the lake.

Riza smoothed out her dark blue romper and sat down next to him, folding her legs underneath her. Roy laughed at her. "Do you ever relax?" he asked, his head rolling to the side. He seemed so much older than his 16 years. Riza flushed in embarrassment, shifting so she sat on her butt instead. "I do. Our definitions of relaxation are a little different.

Roy's dark eyes met hers and he raised an eyebrow. "Do you ever like to have fun?"

Riza huffed petulantly. "Of course I do!"

"Like what?"

The 13 year old paused, very aware of how pink her cheeks were. "I read, I spend time in the garden, I cook…"

The older boy shook his head, twisting to look more closely at her. "I'm talking about _real_fun. The kind that steals your breath away. The kind that you forget where you are and what you're supposed to be doing. The kind that makes your sides hurt and you're crying from the laughter." An off kilter smirk had formed on his face.

It occurred to Riza that her heart was fluttering wildly in her chest. She found herself smiling back. "Like what?" she asked, a little timidly. Roy jumped to his feet and reached out to her. Riza grasped his hand and stood. "Do you know how to swim?"

The young blonde furrowed her brow. "Of course I know how to swim, why do you – _MR. MUSTANG!"_

The last thing she saw before she hit the water was Roy's devilish expression. The water was cold, and she kicked to the surface, fully intending on telling the boy how she felt about his recent actions. She broke the surface just as the dark haired apprentice plunged into the lake next to her. She was hit with another wave of water and she sputtered like a wet cat.

He popped back up, shaking his head to get the water out. Riza shoved her hands in the water, splashing him. Roy laughed and looked at her in anticipation. "What was the purpose of that? We are in our _clothes_. We don't have towels, Mr. Mustang!"

"Roy."

Riza paused, pursing her lips. Roy shrugged. "I have determined that you don't have nearly as much childish, immature fun in your life. So for now, let's drop all the semantics. It's just Roy right now, okay?" His voice had dropped a note, and it made Riza feel all tingly. It could also be from the cold water. She wasn't really sure anymore.

Silently and only slightly unwillingly, she humored him. After all, father did tell her to make his apprentices feel at home. Maybe this was Mr. Mustang's version of 'at home.' During the next hour, she splashed, jumped, tickled, and swam around with the young alchemist. For once in her life, she didn't feel stifled. She was completely absorbed with the feel of the water against her skin, the occasional brush of the older boy's fingers on her hips as he tossed her off the dock. When they lay in the grass at the end of the day, their chests heaving, she never felt more like a kid. The wild, gleeful look on her friend's face assured her he hadn't, either.

The walk back to the Hawkeye household was a leisurely one. But the further they got from the cool depths of the lake, the more reserved they both felt. By the time dinner was ready, they had settled back into their respectful roles. As she put away leftovers and Roy worked on the dishes, he flicked a single, soapy splash of water at her. Briefly, she saw the adventurous boy she had spent the afternoon with. It was a silent promise that they would go again. Just for a few hours, they would pretend they didn't have bigger obligations. They could simply forget themselves.

(Part 2: Nightmares)

Roy jerked awake to a hoarse scream and a thrashing body. His lieutenant had jerked upwards, her body lit by the pale moonlight. He saw a flash of light and noticed her hand was clamped down on her handgun. Glassy amber eyes met his and her face contorted into pain as the nightmares gave way to reality. "It's just me, Hawkeye. You're alright," he murmured. His fingers closed over hers. After a moment, she let go of the weapon, taking in her surroundings. The hotel room was hardly something to call cozy, but it was private. Roy had fallen asleep in the chair next to the bed, the box of medical supplies and burn kit still open on the night stand between them.

It had only been three days since he destroyed the essential parts of her father's research. He still had trouble looking at the burns. No matter what she said, he still felt a wave of nausea knowing he was the cause of them. The nights had been long and neither one had been able to sleep well. Riza tried to settle back down onto the bed, the bandages on her back taut and stretched thin over her pale skin. She sighed heavily, her breath a little uneven. They didn't discuss her nightmares. Roy suspected they were much like his own – riddled with ruined cities and dying men with eyes as red as the blood they had spilled.

He shifted in his seat, wishing he knew the right words to say. Instead he chose to clean up the gauze and medication they had left open and stood to go back to his room. They had purchased two rooms in a seedy hotel on their way back to Central. There was still two weeks of leave left before they had to return and were taking advantage of the time they had. It wasn't quite the vacation he'd wanted, but things rarely went according to plan.

"Roy, wait."

Roy turned, catching her gaze again. She hadn't used his first name since they were children. It sounded unnatural, foreign. "Please, stay," she pleaded. Her hand reached towards him, her fingers trembling. It was so unlike her that it caught him off guard. He set everything down and crossed back to her, his hand twining with hers. She used his weight to pull herself back up into a sitting position. Roy caught the sharp intake of breath that signaled she had pulled the wounds. She gingerly shifted to give him room on the bed. Riza pressed her hand against his face, as if to make sure he was real, and let her fingers graze over his cheek, his neck, the flat expanse of his chest. Roy briefly wondered if she could feel his heart racing underneath his shirt.

She clenched her fist shut and slumped forward, her forehead resting dully against his shoulder.

"Hawkeye – Riza, I-"

"You promised."

Roy stuttered, his hand tightening its hold over hers. "Promised what?" Did she realize how she smelled? Like lavender soap and gun oil and something so distinctly _her._ Did she realize how deeply she affected him?

"That you would make Amestris a better place. You'll do it, won't you?"

The dark haired boy, no, he was a man now, eased his childhood friend back, frowning. "Yes. I will. You will be right behind me, making sure I never stray from the path. I can't do it without you."

She didn't say anything for a long time, simply searching his dark eyes for something. Roy slid his fingers through her cropped hair, pressing his lips against her forehead. He could only think about how dangerous this was. The two of them, together, it was impossible. Their dreams for the country wouldn't allow it. If they were caught-

Her back quivered and he felt the start of hot tears against him. His throat constricted and he pulled her into him, careful to avoid her back. His cheek found a rest against the top of her golden head and he shut his eyes, sighing. Roy lost track of how long they stayed like that, silent and unmoving. They didn't have to talk or explain what they felt. They knew. The alchemist knew her more intimately than any other person. She was as much a part of him as he was her.

Eventually, Riza's breath deepened and evened out. She had slipped into a very light doze. He doubted she would fall back into any kind of deep sleep, not tonight, but he was thankful she had found some sort of rest. Roy shifted, letting her body align closer to his. He was briefly overwhelmed with the amount of trust she placed him. She believed in him – in their shared dream. In this moment, she felt so small, so fragile. There was still part of her that was the shy, reserved girl from their youth. She needed him. He needed her. Gods, he needed her.

Tomorrow, they would have to go back to being the perfect professionals. They would pick up their careful dance like nothing had changed. No stray touches, no lingering glances. All "Colonel" and "Lieutenant" with nothing to suggest this night had happened. But tonight, just this once, in the waning light of the moon, he allowed himself to forget. He forgot about the laws and wars and bloodshed that kept them apart. Everything was _her_. The smell of her, the sound of her soft breath and the pressure of her body tucked so perfectly in his embrace. In the darkness of this tiny hotel room, he let himself give way to his heart.

As he found himself falling asleep, he found his resolve. After this was over, when they finished this idea of a new Amestris, he would pursue this second dream – a life with her. He wasn't sure yet how he would do it, but then again, he had always been known for being ambitious.

(Part 3: Drunk!Riza)

_Lovingly ripped off of taylortot's Drunk!Riza post. Just go to her tumblr and you will find it. It's great._

Riza Hawkeye never particularly cared for alcohol. When most young women turned of age, they would have a huge celebration with friends. When Riza turned of age, she was in the middle of the Ishval, lying in a crumbling bell tower and taking out Ishvalan rebels.

The next few years she was too absorbed in her work to ever partake in the social habit. It didn't surprise her, then, when Rebecca Catalina decided to take her out for her birthday. All of the sharpshooter's arguments on how impractical it was and how she had more important things to go fell on deaf ears. So, that night, Hawkeye somehow found herself standing in front of her closet while Rebecca cleaned one of her new handguns. "I like the blue one. With the slit? I didn't even know you owned that one," Rebecca commented offhandedly, methodically wiping down her pieces.

"Who else are you inviting, Rebecca? And where exactly are we going?"

Catalina chuckled. "I'm not hauling you off to prison, Ri, just calm down. I swear, after we pop your alcohol cherry, we _need_to find you a man. When's the last time you've been laid? Hm, where's my wire brush?"

The brunette pointedly ignored her best friend's deadpan look as she picked up the long handled brush and handed it to her. "Here. I don't need a man, I need a different best friend. Is this acceptable?"

Rebecca looked up from cleaning her gun's barrel and grinned. "Ri, you look _hot_. But grab a sweater or something, it might get cold later on. Or not, it might attract a lovely beau." Riza sighed and pulled a long-sleeved purple sweater to wear over the gray lace tank top. "I can't believe I still hang out with you."

Despite her arguing, Riza was thankful to spend time with the woman. Their conversation was always easygoing. She never had to force small talk. They got to the bar after the sun had set, and Rebecca wasted no time in getting Riza to try all manner of drinks.

She tried a minty concoction with rum while Rebecca scouted out the attractive men in the bar. They talked about the newest models of rifles over margaritas. Riza politely declined a young man's offer to dance while she sipped on a whiskey sour. Riza was halfway through some kind of drink with vodka (Sex on the Sand? Sex on the Beach? ) when she heard a startled laugh from behind her. "Riza Hawkeye?"

Riza turned, vaguely aware that the world lagged about half a second behind her. She giggled when she realized her barstool could spin and took a moment to wiggle back and forth on the seat. Belatedly, she remembered that she had turned to talk to someone and looked back up. Jean Havoc stood there, his hands on his hips and a huge grin on his face.

"Oh, hic, Havoc, where're you doing, I mean what're you doing here? Is something wrong?" she asked, racking her hazy mind to think if she had forgotten anything from work this afternoon. Havoc took a drag on his cigarette and shook his head, laughing like a small child. "Everything's fine, Lieutenant."

"Then why'd you get here? Did Re- oops! Rebecca? Did she ask you to come? How'd you know it was my birthday? Where's your uniform?" Riza couldn't figure out why she was so talkative all of the sudden, or why she nearly knocked over her drink. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she remembered that loss of motor control was a side effect of drinking. That would've irritated her if she stopped long enough to really care. Besides, the barstool was _so much fun_to spin on. Why hadn't Rebecca told her before?

Jean Havoc's eyebrows seemed like they were going to disappear into his hairline. He slid into a barstool next to her and leaned on the counter, admiring the blonde woman. "Well, I'll be damned! Happy birthday! Believe it or not, Lieutenant, not all of us stay at work all the time. I was just here for a couple drink with Must- Oh, okay, let's not spin anymore. You don't want to wear your drink. Where's Catalina? I'm assuming she's the one babysitting you?"

The woman in question arrived as if on cue, placing a hand on Riza's shoulder. "Oh! Havoc! I didn't know this was one of your watering holes! Are you here with anyone?" Rebecca asked, moving Riza's drink just out of reach. Hawkeye grumbled in protest, leaning forward to catch the straw between her teeth. She giggled again, feeling proud of herself. Who says alcohol gives you poor motor control? Riza was doing just fine.

"Ah, oh, yeah. I'm actually meeting the Colonel here."

The two exchanged a look and then turned to the drunk blonde as she rolled the small straw around with her tongue. "Oh, this should be interesting." Riza sat up, spinning around in her seat to look at the both of them. "Rebecca, I've been thinking. This Sex on the Sand-"

"Sex on the Beach, Ri."

"That's what I said. Aaanyways, this Sex on the Sand is _really_good. Like, as good as _sex._I'think that's why they named it that. Havoc, plug yer ears. Yer too young to hear this..well not too young, but I'm an officer, an' it's not 'ppropriate. So, anyway, I've been thinking, if the Sex on the Sand is _that good_, then I should have another _Sex on the Sand._But like, the _real kind._Not the drink kind."

Rebecca spared a glance at Havoc, who looked like he wasn't sure if he should be shocked or amused. She smirked and patted Riza on the shoulder. "You're finally starting to understand where I'm coming from. Shall we find you a guy?"

Riza held up her hand, frowning in concentration. "Wait. 'Becca. 'm I too drink? I mean drunk? I 'ave to be on my _A Game."_ Rebecca nodded, giving Riza a mock serious expression.

"You're absolutely right, Ri. You don't sound drunk. I'm going to find you someone. Just- just sit here."

Riza went back to spinning slightly in her seat, bouncing pick-up lines off the bartender who seemed thoroughly unimpressed. Havoc sipped his drink and continued to watch the sharpshooter demonstrate just how _little_he knew about the woman. Riza was just finishing the last of her beverage when she heard someone walk up and greet Havoc. She peered over her empty glass and came face-to-face with Roy Mustang.

A delighted giggle spilled over her lips, bringing the dark eyed alchemist's focus to her. He had expected to see Havoc with a girl already. He did not, however, anticipate seeing his adjutant easing out of her seat with her sweater dipping down her shoulder suggestively. Her eyes glinted and she stepped directly into his personal space. A slow, teasing grin curled her lips. He immediately smelled the strong smell of alcohol on her breath.

"Lieutenant, are you…"

"Hey, Col….hic…Colonel."

Roy shot an accusatory glance at Havoc, who raised his hands in defense. Roy turned his attention back to the woman whose hands were roaming his forearms. "I've been _practicing_, Colonel. Havoc thinks I'm _very good_." The glare sent towards the man at the bar was much more sinister the second time. Jean's face flushed and he slapped his hand over his face. "Pick-up lines. She's been practicing pick-up lines, sir."

The Colonel took a half step back, trying to add some professional distance between him and the woman. He was dismayed when she took another step forward. This was _not_what he had been expecting this evening. He had a hard enough time resisting the woman when they were both sober. She was dangerously close to breaking protocol.

"Hey, Colonel. You know how you are useless when you're wet?" Roy froze as Riza's fingers hooked into the belt loops on his pants, pulling him closer to her. Her eyes trailed down his chest and let out a terribly exaggerated sigh.

"_Well_ _I'm_ _not_."

_Oh my god, what the hell._Roy was doing his best to ignore the rising heat that crept onto his face. He pried her hands from his pants, only succeeding in getting her arms thrown over his shoulders. Her body was flush against him now. _Oh my god, Hawkeye, don't do this to me here._

"Lieutenant, I think we should get you to bed."

She giggled, a sound he was decidedly uncomfortable with hearing from his normally serious Lieutenant. "You'd li…hic…like that wouldn't you? I can _tell_you would." It was then Catalina showed up, her eyes wide in panic. Roy was never so thankful to see the woman. She grasped the inebriated blonde by the shoulder. "Oh, Ri, you could do better."

Roy started, narrowing his eyes at the weapons expert. She pulled Riza off of him, despite her protests. "I mean, he's an alchemist. I bet he doesn't even know _how_to use his _gun._" Havoc started laughing, not missing the innuendo.

_I rescind that last thought. She's the worst._

"I know how to use my gun just _fine_**_!_**_Better than fine, thank you._ Dammit, what am I saying…" he retorted, straightening his shirt. He could _really_use that drink now. Before he could even make it to the bar, Rebecca yelped and Riza had sauntered back over. Her hands touched his face, the calloused fingers splaying across his lips. "Shhhhh, itssss okay, if you don't know how to handle your gun, Colonel. I'm an _expert gun handler._"

Roy was incredulous. Riza looked so satisfied with herself.

_She is making this so_**_hard_**_. Gods, what is she doing now?_**_Dear god._**

Normally, Roy was excellent at evasive maneuvers. He prided himself on knowing all sorts of strategies and counter attacks to get out of tricky situations. But having his inebriated adjutant sliding his hand up her torso and onto her _(Gods they're soft)_breast was not on the list of survival situations he'd prepared for. She leaned in, her voice thrumming with pleasure.

"You know what they say about alchemists?" she questioned, her lips leaning in grazing the shell of his ear.

Roy was pretty sure he had never heard _anyone_say that about alchemists, but he listened anyways. If she was going for pick-up lines, these were definitely successful. Her fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, sending fire through his chest and down below his abdomen. Her bare thigh slipped out the slit in her skirt and brushed against his pants (which were growing awfully tight the longer he stood there).

If he could think straight, Roy would've overheard Catalina and Havoc discussing the unfortunate situation he was in. He probably would've smacked Havoc for making a joke in such a serious situation. Instead, he felt the hot breath of his very attractive subordinate against his ear and tried to ignore how much she was squirming against him. She sighed, her voice dropping an octave. A thousands eternities passed before she leaned back, her amber eyes thick with emotion.

Before he could blink, she untangled herself from him and whipped around to look for her best friend. Her grin was wide and devilish. "I told you I was good at 'em," she remarked proudly before stumbling sideways a few steps. Rebecca and Roy both reached to steady her at the same time. Riza waved her hand over her shoulder nonchalantly. "Th- hic – Thanks for the practice, Colonel! Mmm…'Becca, I need to find a man. Didya find one already?"

Roy just stood there, still completely flabbergasted over being propositioned by Riza. Rebecca corralled the girl to the dance floor to work off her "excess energy," leaving Havoc to tend to his frazzled friend. The bartender already had two drinks ready for them, shaking his head. It took 3 more to forget the feeling of her tongue darting out against his ear and the slight shift of her hips into his.

Despite Havoc's suggestion of finding another 'friend' to stay with for the night, Roy chose to go home alone. It would take more than some random woman to forget the unmistakable heat his Lieutenant stirred in him. The next day, Riza would show up to work half an hour late, her expression stony and cold. Havoc, who initially thought it would be a great idea to ask her about her night and if she'd done anything fun, was greeted with a stack of paperwork that towered over her head. She shot a single, dark glare at Roy, who kept his head low to his current report.

If anyone noticed the awkward tension between the pair for the next week, or the particularly wide berth the woman gave her superior, they didn't bring it up. There might have been some chatter, but that wasn't uncommon. After all, you know what they say about alchemists.

(Part 4: Lust)

Riza wound her way through the corridors, sweat beading against her temple. The floor shook beneath her boots and the distant sound of an explosion reverberated against her chest.

_Colonel Mustang._

The sharpshooter stopped in her tracks, gazing over shoulder. She wanted nothing more than to go back. He needed backup. He needed someone to watch his back. He needed her.

_You have a mission to complete._

Riza gathered her resolve, mustering all the military discipline within her. This was not a childhood game. She had a duty, and she would fulfill it. The Colonel could take care of himself. She continued on.

When Lust met them in the white room, Riza felt her stomach drop. Something was off. Something wasn't right. Her skin felt clammy and her pistol felt too heavy in her hand. When Barry fell to pieces by Lust's claws, Riza shifted her stance, ready for the woman's advance.

"Now then, where were we?" Lust teased. "I think I was about to send the Lieutenant to join her superior."

Riza stiffened at the mention of her title. She was about to ask how this woman knew who she was when it sank in.

_The candidates. Mr. Gallantry._**_The Colonel_**_._

"Wait a minute. So when you said you already had to kill someone…" Lust continued her slow walk towards her. The haunting look in her eyes did not change. Riza's blood turned to ice. "It can't be…you didn't…"

Lust grinned.

Everything else ceased to exist.

"_**You bitch!"**_

Riza had killed countless people in Ishval. Each shot was a planned, perfected aim. Each kill was calculated in degrees, knots, and the milliseconds between each breath.

This time, she did not breathe. If her heart still beat in her chest, she could not hear it. There were no careful measurements, no planning. The methodical count of how many bullets left in the chamber were drowned out by the screams. Who was screaming? Riza wasn't sure if it was her or someone else entirely. It was a guttural cry – the sound that could chill even the most tempered soul. It didn't matter. All she saw were those two narrowed violet eyes and that shit-eating grin. Hole after hole penetrated Lust's milky white skin, staining the flesh around it with bright crimson splotches. Still, the homunculus didn't fall down.

When her third gun refused to fire, agony ripped through her. It stripped away every meticulously composed layer she had put together. She did not feel the tears as they burned down her face. She did not hear the anguished sobs wrench from her throat as her limbs loosened and her body gave out beneath her. She had failed. She had one job and she had failed him.

The metallic clang of Lust's claws against Al's armor stirred her.

_Why is he still here? Can't he see – can't he see how much we've lost?_

"Listen, Alphonse. Leave me and save yourself."

"No!"

"_RUN."_

"I won't!"

"_**Just**__**go!"**_There was nothing left of her. She wasn't worth saving. _Why was he still here_?

"I won't leave you! I'm sick of watching people die and I can't just sit back and take it anymore! I won't let anyone else get killed! Not when I can protect them!"

Her response stuck in her throat. All she could hear was Roy's voice. Did Alphonse realize how much he sounded like the Colonel when he spoke – so full of passion?

"Well spoken." The world stopped. "I couldn't agree more."

Riza's head whipped up, everything snapping back into focus. The next few seconds stretched and lengthened in her mind. She saw the ruffled head of black hair and matching eyes just before Alphonse's wall of earth divided them. Billows of flame singed the air around them, the heat breathing life into her limbs. She strained to hear him over the roar of the flames, his voice thick with rage and resilience. He was there. He was alive. She'd be damned if she didn't help him now. She screamed to him, praying he would hear her.

Alphonse gripped her as she tried to stand, her muscles aching and straining to do _something._ Lust's screams unsettled the sharpshooter and she grit her teeth and fought against Alphonse. When the flames stopped, she heard the dying words of the homunculus. It did not matter. That bitch did not matter. It was the pained gasps of her Colonel that lanced her heart and finally got her free of the armored boy's grasp.

She called out to him a second time, breaching the divide and collapsing next to him. It wasn't until she saw breath fill his lungs and his dark eyes meet hers that she could feel her panic subside. There was blood – _so much blood_– but it did not matter. His voice reached her ears and the corner of his lips quirked upwards as he silently reassured her that he was not that easy to kill. She had another day with him and that thought swallowed her. It filled the valleys of her sorrow and eased the cords of tension that strung her up like a puppet.

A little later, when the medics came to take him away, she would remember that it was inappropriate to let her hands smooth over the scarred planes of his chest. She would remind herself that pressing her head against his shoulder and allowing herself to cry with relief or fear or the lingering nightmare of a life without him wasn't something her fellow officers should see. In a few minutes, when they lifted him onto the stretcher, she would dig her nails into the curve of her thighs so she wouldn't grasp his hand. Because even though no one else could truly understand what the loss of Roy Mustang would do to her, they had roles to play. She told him she'd follow him to hell. Only now was she starting to realize what that meant.


	5. Day 5: Five Times Roy Skipped Class

_A/N: Does it still count as the day before if I don't post it until 3am? Ah well. Here's Part 5. Only one mildly angsty one this time. I think the last part makes up for it. I tried to order it chronologically. Someday, if I'm lucky, I'll have a little consistency in the lengths of the section. In the meantime, enjoy! Also, please note, I have not done like, any editing on this. I'm just trying to get this one done in time so I can go watch the season finale of Korra. If you see anything weird or stupid sounding, please let me know_!

* * *

The sun was bright, and Roy was glum. He was on his daily walk to school. He clutched his lunch pail and took slow, grudging steps to class. Normally, he loved to learn. He absorbed facts, figures, and concepts much faster than his fellow students. That, however, was also the problem. It took him one class period to learn how to multiply and divide. The pieces fit together perfectly in his mind. It made sense. The other students in his 3rd grade class, however, needed a week. So on the fourth day of the same lesson being repeated, he was growing agitated. Finishing assignment after assignment in class wasn't doing him any good. So he walked as slowly as he could, shuffling one foot in front of the other.

"Roy!" The boy's head jerked up and he saw his friend, Thomas, waving frantically. The brown haired boy wasn't as book smart as Roy, but he was deviously clever. Roy's father would call him a "troublemaker" or "class clown." Roy thought he was fun. Thomas rocked back and forth on his heels, eyeing the woods just beyond the schoolhouse.

"Hey Thomas!" Roy called cheerfully, stopping just short of him. Thomas dug his toe into the mud, sucking on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "So, my brother Louis was telling me that the river's really high today. He said the minnows and fish are all over the place after the storm. But he says if we wait till after school, all the other kids will be there."

Roy furrowed his brow. "I don't think Ms. Howard will let us go during recess. It'll be too far," he replied carefully. Thomas looked up at him, grinning. "So let's just go now."

The boys shared a long look. Roy mulled over the idea. He had never skipped school before. If his father caught him, he'd probably enjoy a sound beating. "He'll never find out," Thomas interjected, as if reading Roy's thoughts. "Your dad never talks to Ms. Howard anyways. Come on! Unless you're afraid I'll catch more than you!"

Roy huffed, his pride touched. "No way! I can catch more, _and I can outrun you_!" Without waiting for his friend to react, Roy broke into a full run. Thomas started laughing and was close behind. Needless to say, that night his father noticed the dirt stains and scrapes only a misbehaving boy could muster. He much preferred the branches hanging lazily over the river that afternoon to the one he brought his father for a switching. When he counted the minnows in his empty lunch pail before bed, he swore that he would never skip school again.

* * *

Roy was a perfect (if not cocky) student for the next several years. Even when he left his small town and moved in with his Aunt, he never missed class. That is, until he met Rosaline. She moved just a few months before him and worked in her parent's book shop. They were fast friends, as most of the kids already had their own inside jokes and history together. After a few months, he found himself daydreaming about her. He would find excuses to come by before school, even if he wasn't going to buy anything. Often times, he caught himself counting the freckles on her nose while she read her books.

When Rosaline planted a kiss on him one winter morning on his daily stop, any thoughts of school left him. She tasted like honey and sunshine, and he relished in her the way only a 15 year old boy could. She was a years his senior, and whether it was through her books or her firsthand knowledge, the girl knew her away around him. Her skin was smooth and he was mesmerized by the pretty pink she turned. His aunt would be furious, especially since he was half aware he had two exams that day, but there were much more important things on his…mind. Besides, he did an awful lot of learning that morning. It was all equivalent exchange.

His Aunt and adoptive sisters caught on very quickly when he came home with a rosy glow set deep into his cheeks. He suffered through an incredibly detailed talk about the birds and the bees. He was sure he looked much more like a beet than anything else when Chris Mustang let him go upstairs without supper (because clearly he had more than enough to eat that afternoon).

The next few months were complete bliss with Rosaline, until he saw a notice calling for apprentices for Alchemy. Rosaline was the one who brought it up first. They promised to write, but nothing more. She made him promise that he wouldn't forget her when he became a famous alchemist. He vowed he wouldn't.

* * *

Riza loved the Spring. She never said so, but Roy had noticed the way she seemed to have lightness to her steps this time of year. When he would pause in his studies for lunch, he could sometimes hear the quiet humming filtering from the backyard where she pruned the blooming honeysuckle. In the mornings, he would sometimes be granted a rare, reserved smile from her when the sun shone through the windows. Roy had never really cared for Spring (the blooming flowers made his nose tickle and his eyes water), but the infectious nature of the young blonde was changing his mind.

It was May, almost a year after he arrived, when he was finishing up a morning's lesson with Master Hawkeye. The man shooed him off, telling him to come back in an hour for more lessons. Roy was more than pleased to take a break. The symbols and formulas were starting to make his head hurt. He wanted nothing more than to enjoy a break with the young woman who sat in the sunshine. He walked downstairs and saw her tying a sheer shawl over her white sundress. She looked up as he entered the kitchen and nodded delicately towards him. She picked up the large woven basket on the counter and tilted her head towards the refrigerator.

"There's some fish left in the fridge. I'll be back later."

Roy clicked his tongue in dismay. "Now? Where are you going?"

Riza gave him a quizzical look. "The market. I just need a few things."

The dark haired apprentice pursed his lips, his mind racing. He had just wanted a little downtime with her before going back to work. She couldn't leave yet! Just an hour…

Roy paused, his lips curling into a half smirk. "I'll go with you!"

It was Riza's turn to purse her lips. "Mr. Mustang, you are still in the middle of your lessons. You don't _have_time to go with me. I'll manage on my own." Roy shrugged lackadaisically and strolled up to her, taking the basket from her hands.

"Nonsense! You father won't miss me. He's nose deep in his research right now. He won't even notice I'm gone!"

Riza seemed to weigh her options, her amber eyes staring hard at the insistent boy in front of her. Eventually, she relented, and he gave her his full, brilliant grin. She graced him with a lovely little blush and then turned on her heel and marched out the door. He fell right into place beside her, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. He commented on the weather and her dress. Riza rolled her eyes.

Roy swung the basket back and forth as they walked, talking about the latest book his teacher's daughter had been reading. He enjoyed listening to her soft, direct responses about the hefty topics she was studying. She had a gentle, firm intelligence that Roy admired. Riza never bragged, although he would occasionally catch a pleased smile on her lips when she bested him at chess or when she corrected him during their debates. He could see her spine straighten with pride when he melted after eating her home cooked meals. The crinkle in her eyes when he said something humorous was easier to see now.

They chatted all the way to the market, where Riza was efficient as always. Roy stopped at each stall, tasting free samples and flirting shamelessly with the older women. He had no intention of returning quickly to the Hawkeye Estate, and found every way possible to drag it out further. He ignored the slight twitch of Riza's eyebrow as she waited for him. He shared his latest prize, a bag of chocolate covered almonds, as a peace offering.

"I do have things to do," she muttered as she stole a couple almonds from him. He popped one his mouth, glancing over at her and smiling. "I just think we spend too much time cooped up at home. Can't you just appreciate the day? It's beautiful outside!"

Riza snorted, chewing on her almond thoughtfully. Her gaze drifted across the scenery and her expression softened. If she noticed the taller boy staring openly at her, she did not say anything. The corners of her lips tilted and some of the tightness in her shoulders lessened.

"It is, isn't it?"

Their walk turned into a stroll, and their stroll turned into little more than a shuffle. The bag of almonds was completely empty by the time they got home, and the sun was kissing the horizon. Roy was right, and Hawkeye had no idea they had been gone. He had hardly moved since his apprentice had disappeared for lunch. The pair shared a wordless look and Roy slunk off upstairs, pleased that for once no one noticed he had disappeared from class. That night, he fell asleep to dreams of cropped blonde hair and the smell of honeysuckle.

* * *

Four years later, Roy was working through his third year of training at the Military Academy. He learned quickly and excelled beyond his peers, as he was wont to do. He was the Golden Child of his class, and he made many friends and enemies by doing so. He was thankful for his friends, though, when he received an unexpected letter in the mail. It was from a physician – Berthold Hawkeye's physician. The man was concerned for the alchemist's health, and knew that Riza would likely need help when the time came. Roy appeared to be the only person still capable or willing to assist the dying man.

If it had only been down to the aged alchemist, Roy would have never considered going back to that tiny town in the South. The name still left a bitter taste in the back of his throat – a simmering anger over the treatment from his master when he learned Roy wanted to go into the military. He had very nearly thrown the letter away when he saw her name.

_Riza will likely need help when the time comes._

His heart lurched at the mention of the small girl who he had shared a home with for nearly two years. He could still remember the mornings where the smell of sizzling eggs and sausage would be the only thing dragging him downstairs. He could still recall the glint of sunlight as it reflected off the short, uneven strands of her golden hair. It was those rare smiles she graced him with, that he remembered the most.

He had to go.

He left in the middle of the night, swearing to his bunkmate he'd be back in three days' time. Maes had grumbled considerably, trying to figure out what possible lie he could use to cover up his friend's stupid decisions. The train ride left Roy ample time to be worried and anxious and angry. When he made it to the tiny town he had called home for two years, all that was left in him was fear. He very nearly turned around, but the weight of two large, amber eyes held him back.

The house looked like it hadn't been tended to since he left. It chilled him to the bone as he walked up to the front door. The scent of rotting flowers wafted through the air. She opened the door, and all breath was gone from him. Riza Hawkeye was a woman. Her hair, though still short, seemed to fit her face better. The awkward budding curves of her youth were now the gentle slopes of an adult. Her back was straight, but it was not quiet confidence that kept her alert. No, there was a weary resignation that settled over her like the yawning emptiness of her home. She was not ill, but this house and her father were slowly killing her. That much he could tell.

She seemed as startled to see him, but let him in without question. He felt her inquisitive gaze as she looked over his uniform. He recalled her uneasy acceptance of his decision from several years ago. Did she still accept him now? He did not dare to ask. She demonstrated where her father was, reminding the soldier what he was supposed to be here for. Roy suddenly felt very, very lost. Riza reached out and touched his forearm. He nearly jolted at the contact. She met his eyes and nodded silently. Briefly, he wondered how she always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. He took a breath and went upstairs.

Later on, Roy Mustang would wonder if the Hawkeyes' physician had a sixth sense. In the three days Roy skipped training, he was able to speak with his former master, watch him die, and bury him. Riza would never admit it, but she would've been completely unequipped to handle her father's arrangements. She did not cry, because her father had been dead for quite some time. But her hands still trembled and her voice was tight and tenuous. He also learned what weighed down so heavily on the young woman's shoulders.

With no time to study her father's secret, Roy made a promise he would return in a month's time, after the cadets were released for winter break. She was understanding, just like she always was, and he somehow felt worse about leaving her now than the first time. He did not tell her the amount of demerits he received when he returned, or the amount of bathrooms he had to clean to spend those few days with her. He did not tell her that the grateful, broken smile she gave him churned something deep in his soul. He certainly did not tell her that just the knowledge that she did not have to spend her father's last moments made it worth it. Roy could not do much for the too-small woman in the too-large house, but he could at least do that. He could do that.

* * *

"Sir? Sir! Fuhrer Mustang!"

The Fuhrer straightened suddenly, his eyes shooting open. The officer in front of him looked awfully angry. Roy heaved a heavy sigh and waved the officer forward.

"Sir, you need to review the new instructional materials for the course. It needs to be approved by the end of the day. You need to sit in on the class," the officer explained severely, his frown set deep in his face. Roy looked over the papers with a little bemusement.

"When does this class start?"

"15 minutes, sir."

Roy grumbled something under his breath. "What was that, sir?"

"I'll be there shortly," Roy repeated, nearly drifting off again. It had been a fitful couple of nights this past week. He stood, straightening out his uniform. It had been nearly four years since he took office, but he still had trouble getting used to his new uniform. He missed the Amestrian Blues, but a new government required a new uniform. Roy looked over the papers once more, tucking them into his briefcase. Just as he was about to leave, the phone on his desk rang. His eyes narrowed on the object, his heartrate accelerating. He clutched the receiver and picked it up. "Fuhrer Mustang, speaking."

"_Roy. Get here._**_Now._**_"_

Every organ inside the Fuhrer's body turned to gelatin. He would recognize the voice of that woman anywhere. She sounded like she was in pain. He suddenly felt like he was going to be sick.

"Now? Like, _right now?_"

"No, please, take your time. It's not like I'm sitting in a _hospital at the moment._ _**Of course right now.**_"

"A-Alright, I'm on my way. Just hang on, Riza."

Roy felt his entire arm shaking like a leaf as he dropped the phone and his briefcase. His secretary looked at him in alarm as he all but ran out of his office.

"F-Fuhrer Mustang! Is it time?" she called after him, her voice falling on deaf ears. Roy passed several startled soldiers on his way out the door. His personal guard trailed after him, cursing at him as he got into his car and drove much faster than any normal person had a right to. The hospital was blessedly close to his office. He was sure he would hear about leaving his car in the ambulance lane, but at the moment he had more pressing matters.

The nurse at the front nearly knocked into him as he darted in, his eyes wide and his breathing labored. "Where is she?" he questioned, reaching out to touch the nurse's arm. She flushed and looked towards a doctor nearby. He recognized Roy and hurried over, taking the Fuhrer by the arm. "She's on the second floor. Come with me."

Roy refused to say anything more. He didn't know what to do. The sound of her voice echoed in his ears as the doctor tried to explain what was going on. "…It comes and goes every few minutes… She's not out of the woods yet…. but I think she'll make it through fine…" Nothing the doctor said mattered until they rounded the corner and turned into the room. Rebecca was there, her brown hair swept into a messy ponytail. She sighed in relief at the sight of him, leaning down to the woman on the bed.

"Ri. Hey, Riza, he's here. Roy's here. About damn time, too."

It only took two steps for him to make it to her bedside. Sweat beaded across the blonde's forehead. Her amber eyes squinted in pain as she reached out to him. He grasped her hand, his face pale. His eyes swept over her, watching her grip her swollen abdomen. Riza let out a sharp cry, her knuckles turning white. "Roy, this _fucking hurts_."

"That's why they're called contractions, Riza. They're getting shorter, so it shouldn't be too much longer," Rebecca replied, holding a cold compress over her best friend's forehead. The pregnant woman glared back at the brunette. "_Thank you for telling me what I_**_already_**_know, Rebecca. Just get this baby_**_out of me_**_."_

Roy looked over at the nurse, who was checking all of Riza's vitals. "It won't be too much longer now, Riza," he promised, smoothing out the damp hair on her forehead. "Just breathe. The baby's almost here."

By almost here, he really meant another 10 hours. It had to have been the longest 10 hours of his life. He had dealt with his wife through her mood swings and pestering for most of his life. But the amount of fury and vitriol that Riza Mustang expelled during labor was on a totally different playing field. He was so thankful when Gracia arrived and joined forces with Rebecca. Between the two women, Riza was well looked after. Roy was in a near panic trying to be supportive of his wife, stay out of her way, and worry over his unborn child. He was a man who liked to make strategies and plan ahead. But this, _this_was beyond his ability to calculate and execute any sort of coherent strategy. So he paced.

It was nearly midnight when he heard Riza's cries intensify. "I see the head! Just a few more pushes, Mrs. Mustang! You're almost there!" Roy clung to his wife's hand, no longer able to feel the blood flowing in his fingers. His lips ghosted across her knuckles as he sucked in a breath. His gaze ping ponged between her face and between her legs. When he heard the second, tinier voice cry out in response to Riza's shouts, the world went still.

The doctors worked quickly to clean off the child, and Roy could do nothing but stare. "She's a healthy baby girl," the doctor announced. The soft wails were the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Riza held out her arms, taking the newborn into her arms. Unable to help himself, Roy reached out, the tips of his fingers touching the top of the baby girl's head. A sudden well of emotion seemed to choke him. His wife must have heard him, because she looked up at him with a wide grin.

"Roy, She's _beautiful_," she breathed, her voice still shaken. The flame alchemist leaned forward, kissing Riza and then their daughter with the tenderness of a butterfly's wings. When he leaned back, he felt the distinct taste of tears at the corner of his mouth. He couldn't bring himself to care if they were his or hers. All that mattered were the two women in front of him.

"Yes, she is. She's _perfect_."

Gracia and Rebecca took turns admiring the small bundle. Roy chuckled quietly to himself, watching his wife. She glanced up at him, silently asking him what was so funny. "I just remembered, I was supposed to sit through a class this afternoon."

Rebecca looked up briefly from cooing at the small child. "What class was it?"

Roy flashed an ironic smile, looking back at the blonde sharpshooter lying in the hospital bed. Even now, with the weariness of post-birth, she was breathtaking. He reached out and picked up his newborn daughter, cradling her somewhat awkwardly in his arms. He imagined he'd get used to it soon. He shook his head in mild disbelief before looking back up at Rebecca.

"It was on identifying and preventing fraternization."


	6. Day 6: Six Ways to Tame the Mustang

_A/N: So, when can I pick up my award for being the worst updater of all mankind? Because I think I've won that by now. I picked a horrible time of year to do this (hello familial obligations while I'm only in town for 8 days! whoo!). I will be posting a lot of the days in rapid succession in the next 72 hours. Don't judge me I love you all._

* * *

He was in a mood again. Jean Havoc was busy laying out a new round of documents to be printed when the colonel stalked in, all storm clouds and spilled milk. Immediately, Havoc looked around the room to find her. With growing dismay, he realized Lieutenant Hawkeye was nowhere to be found. "Good morning, Colonel," he greeted as cheerfully as he could. Mustang barely registered that the blonde was speaking to him, sitting down at his desk with much more force than was really necessary.

Breda and Falman, who were also sitting at their desks, exchanged nervous glances. They already knew better than to comment on their superior's foul mood. They likely wouldn't get any kind of response from him for a better part of the morning. Breda caught Havoc's attention, mouthing a quick "Where's the Lieutenant?" to him. Havoc shrugged, rolling his unlit cigarette in his mouth. It was unusual for the sharpshooter to be this late. Briefly, he wondered if she had anything to do with Mustang's latest brooding fest. Either way, they all kept their heads low and tried to continue living for the rest of the day.

It wasn't until Mustang left to go to the restroom that the trio started planning. "We need Hawkeye," Breda remarked, tapping his pen against his desk. Falman nodded. "She just has to point her gun at him and he falls right back in line," he added.

"Point her gun at him? She can stop him just by touching his shoulder. It's a gift," Havoc interjected.

"Or, like, have you ever noticed when she calls him sir? Sometimes it sounds like she's calling Black Hayate instead of the Colonel."

All three of the guys laughed. "He's just as obedient, though."

"Well, it's no wonder. Her glare is enough to temper him. I swear she can be scarier when she's completely silent."

"Sometimes, all it takes is her just being in the room and he's like putty. I'm pretty sure she puts something in his coffee. It's impressive how it only takes like, 5 steps for her to tame the Mustang."

"Have we finished gossiping, ladies? If I recall, this is the office and you're supposed to be working."

Somehow, Havoc, Breda, and Falman had completely missed the fact that Mustang had made his way back into the office. To say they were terrified was an understatement. To say they wished nothing more than for Hawkeye to be there was an even bigger one. They shrank back to their paperwork, praying to whatever higher power would keep them alive one more day. Hopefully that higher power would walk in the door as soon as possible.

Two hours into what had to be the most painfully long work day Havoc could recall, the phone rang. Specifically, Mustang's phone. He picked it up, barking a greeting into the receiver. Out of the corner of his eye, Havoc saw the older man's forehead lose its angry crease. He sighed with relief. It could only be one person on the other end.

"Fine. I expect you here within the hour with a full report."

Mustang hung up the phone, staring at it for a few moments before realizing he was being watched. "Can I help you, Havoc?" he snapped, and with a quick shake of his head, Havoc went back to work. The angry sound of a poor, overworked stapler was the only sound in the office. The sooner the Lieutenant got here, the sooner this day of hell would be over. So the countdown began.

When Lieutenant Hawkeye entered 45 minutes later, pristine and orderly, the palpable tension in the room seemed to dissipate. Although he did a remarkable job concealing it, Mustang straightened and directed his laser focus on the woman. She greeted the other men in the office, who all seemed a little too pleased at her presence. "Good morning, Colonel," she greeted primly, pulling a packet of papers out of her notebook. Their eyes met for a brief moment as he took them from her.

People often speculated about the nature of their relationship. It was nothing new – the pair had drawn criticism and scrutiny for years. Watching the silent exchange between them, Havoc was only too aware of how close they were. They never breached their professional composures. There were no accidental brushes of hands or looks that lasted too long. But there was something almost _magnetic_about how they worked together. It took a single look from his Lieutenant, and the stress that bunched his shoulders up to his ears ebbed away. The tight-lipped alchemist relaxed like a cat uncurling in a bright patch of sunlight.

There was no doubt they loved each other. The entire team knew it. Havoc was just impressed that they could keep their interactions so cordial and impassive. He wondered if there was anything that could make them break –

There was a loud clatter and everyone jumped as Colonel Mustang simultaneously dropped his mug and spit coffee all over his desk. Jean Havoc had never seen the man blush, so when his face turned red like a pepper, Havoc was speechless. Mustang looked over at Hawkeye, holding onto the report she had given him. She returned the stare with mild confusion. "Something wrong, sir?" she asked respectfully, tilting her head.

It was Mustang's quick look around the room that got the other occupants suspicious. "N-No, nothing's wrong, Lieutenant." He set the papers aside and stood to grab something to clean everything up. Breda was in the middle of mouthing something to Havoc when he was distracted by Hawkeye. She was _smiling_. It was small and almost unnoticeable, but there was a particularly devious quirk of her lips that incited quite a bit of curiosity in the Second Lieutenant. He made a meaningful look at Falman, angling the pen meaningfully towards the thoroughly miffed Colonel. Falman looked put out, but stood up. "Sir, let me help you," he offered, grabbing a handful of tissues and walking over to the man's desk. Mustang was trying to retrieve the broken pieces of the mug from under his desk.

"Th-That's not necessary, Falman! I'll take care of it!" Mustang called out, nearly leaping out from underneath the desk as the officer began moving papers and wiping everything down. Hawkeye was also standing, her eyes trained on the papers in Falman's hands. "Don't worry, Falman, I'm sure the Colonel can handle himself. It's just a little spilled coffee.

There was an awkward pause between them and Falman set the papers down. "Absolutely, Lieutenant. I'm sure he can handle himself fine." Without another word, the information specialist returned to his seat, a familiar heat crawling up his neck. Any of Havoc or Breda's attempts to get his attention for the rest of the morning was pointless. He had no intention of looking at anyone else in the room. Hawkeye and Mustang, coincidentally, were also rather quiet.

It wasn't until later that evening when Falman would break the news that their superior officer had received quite an _explicit_ review of Lieutenant Hawkeye's morning. The few sentences he had managed to read before a coffee-stained flame alchemist scared him into submission were enough to make Falman sweat. There was a small part of him that would never be able to look at the blonde sharpshooter quite the same. Especially not after he started reading about what she was hoping would be cocked and loaded that night.

The next day, no one spoke about the 'report' that everyone knew about. Decorum returned, as usual, and they tried their best to pretend that nothing had happened. Havoc may have made a few subtle jokes, but only when he knew no one was close enough to shoot him or light him on fire. After all, in exchange for their mutual silence, Havoc had to make fun of the 6th way Riza Hawkeye could tame the Mustang.


	7. Day 7: First Seven Days of Training

_A/N: I had a lot of fun writing Riza when she's completely unaware of her feelings. It's written like her Diary Entries. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Unfortunately, the strikethrough I originally had did not transfer over to this format. If you notice any parenthesis, just imagine it's something Riza wrote and then crossed out after the fact. It makes it much cuter! If anyone knows how to keep the strikethrough effect on here, please let me know!_

* * *

Riza had always found a strange comfort in being alone. She was not known for being talkative or particularly outgoing. After her mother's death, she rarely spent a lot of time with people. Her only family spent most of his time locked in his study, so the most human interaction she got was the hour she spent every day running errands around town. It was enough for her.

When her father started to take on apprentices for some income, she largely ignored them. It didn't take long for her father to dismiss them. She wasn't particularly surprised. Her father was detailed, strict, and very specific in his wants and needs. Riza had been keeping a tally of how long each apprentice lasted, if only to pass the time. So far, none of the 25 hopeful alchemists lasted longer than 6 days. Berthold Hawkeye never wasted time.

June 04, 1901

_Father had a new apprentice arrive today. His name is Roy Mustang. I think he's 17 or 18. He's sort of lanky and has dark eyes. His hair a little messy, like Evan Mathers always keeps it. He was surprised to see me, I think. I doubt Father had mentioned he had a daughter. He rarely does. If Mr. Mustang wanted to say anything about the house, he didn't show it. In fact, he seemed much more adamant on asking me questions- like if I had any siblings, what kind of man my father was, what my hobbies were, if I really did all the housework, what I liked to study, if I could recommend any books to read. Frankly, it was kind of irritating. I wish he would be like the others and ignore me. He'd be leaving soon anyways. No student had made it past 6 days with father. I just have to make it through this week and then maybe I'll have some peace and quiet._

June 05, 1901

_I have determined father's new apprentice is a flirt. At least that's what I've heard other girls call people like him. He likes to smile at me a lot. I made breakfast this morning and he made such a big deal about it. I don't think he's ever had eggs benedict and sausage before. Or maybe he's just a terrible cook. But he said that I'd make a wonderful wife one day, if only I'd talk more. I told him that if I have to constantly talk to get my point across, then maybe my husband should be paying more attention. That seemed to catch him off guard. I rather like making him speechless. He always seemed to talk like he was reading poetry. His voice is rich and deep, so unlike Father's raspy timbre. It makes my stomach turn and I don't know why. I hate that. Anyways, he spent most of the day with Father. He looked kind of frustrated after his lessons were over, but he hasn't packed his bags yet, so I guess he'll be here tomorrow._

June 06, 1901

_Somehow, in spite of all his lessons with Father, he has made a point to bother me as often as possible. Mr. Mustang, that is. First, I had to listen to him talk for a full 20 minutes this morning, from his studies to more questions about me. Father must have added in some lesson involving learning about me. That's the only possible explanation for how infuriatingly intrusive he was being. After lunch, Father seemed to have forgotten that he still had a student and had restarted some of his research. Mr. Mustang looked awfully put out. He told me he was to help me with errands for the afternoon and study on his own. At least this time we were both disappointed to be sharing in each other's company. I also had the added benefit of going into town, where he could chat up someone other than his teacher's daughter._

_(I'm not sure why he thought Laurel Hunters was worthy of his time, though, since she hardly seems like someone as charming as him would be interested in. I mean, they might be a little closer to the same age, but she's hardly the _**_prettiest _**_girl in town. Maybe he likes brunettes?)_

_Mr. Mustang still hasn't been kicked out, yet, which means I might be stuck with him a few days longer. I picked out some extra groceries, just in case. I even got some peaches, for a cobbler. Maybe I'll make it once he finally leaves._

June 07, 1901

_In his break this afternoon, he interrupted my reading. He didn't say anything – he just watched me. I don't think he actually _**_knew _**_he was staring. It was almost comical, with three over sized books in one hand and a glass of water in the other_. _His hair had been mussed up, probably from trying to rack his brain too much. I think he'd been looking for a place to sit down outside. It was a lovely day, after all. He looked a little flustered when I stopped reading to look back at him. Of course, it didn't take long for him to show off that cocky smile of his and sit down next to me._

_He talked about how surprised that the honeysuckle were still in bloom. He was so pleased by them. I didn't tell him about Mother or how she planted different varieties of the flower so they were almost always in bloom. I didn't tell him how Mother and I spent a whole two days just planting them in the yard, even though I wasn't much help being a girl of 6. I didn't tell him why I always sat outside or how it was one of the last remaining memories I had of her. After all, he would only be here a few more days. Then, it wouldn't matter if he saw some alchemist's daughter wipe away tears. They always left. They always forgot. Mr. Mustang is no different._

June 08, 1901

_He made breakfast. I had barely gotten up (at 5am, as usual) when I smelled something cooking. I've never heard of men cooking – that was always the Mother's job. But he was standing at the stove, scrambling a couple eggs. The table had already been set for two – Father never ate at the table. He looked so intensely at the pan, holding his spatula like a sword. The boy was even wearing my apron! The bright yellow patterned fabric looked so at odds with his serious expression that I couldn't help but laugh. I think if the pan had still been in his hand, we would've been eating breakfast off the floor._

_I guess he had never heard me laugh, or seen me smile, now that I think about it. The look he gave me was such a strange mix of delight and shock.(__Why does he always give me butterflies when he does stuff like that?)__He made me sit down and poured me a glass of water, like we were at restaurant. He made us both plates and watched me while I took my first bites. I almost didn't mind his chatter. I've come to determine that Mr. Mustang is really just like a puppy. He's so eager to please and do well. Father must see something in him to keep him for 5 days already, and Mr. Mustang must be very loyal and dedicated to deal with Father for this long. He was certainly the most promising of the apprentices so far._

_And he makes really good breakfast, for a boy._

June 09, 1901

_It happened early in the evening. I was just getting ready to come inside after a long day of studying one of Father's old Xingese Philosophy books when I heard a door slam. It was only a matter of time, after all. Mr. Mustang was storming down the stairs, his face red and his dark eyes ablaze. He had his jacket over his arm and his suitcase in hand. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. He halted mid step and looked at me. The fire in his features dulled and he walked over, extending his hand. His mouth curved down into an apologetic frown. My throat tightened and he told me how sorry he was, but how he couldn't learn from someone like Father. He would be catching the train the next morning to head back to Central. I wonder if he felt time move as slowly as I did in those moments. I gave him a basket of bundle of food. Just a sandwich, some leftover sausage, and some peaches, for the road. For some reason, the house seemed much stiller than it had in almost a week._

_At least I could finally get some peace and quiet._

June 10, 1901 (Day 7)

_Today was the first day after Mr. Mustang left. I slept in very late, but still couldn't bring myself to get up. I could view the front yard from my window and had taken to watching everything from the comfort of my bed. For some reason, I'd just not been feeling well. I was listless and agitated, but I couldn't figure out why. I could hear the hum of the refrigerator from my room upstairs. Father had been shuffling papers and making garbled comments to himself all morning. The birds outside even seemed to be particularly loud today._

_I was fully intending on taking a day off from chores when Father interrupted me. He asked if I knew when Mr. Mustang's train would be leaving, because he had a letter that he had left. I offered to mail it or throw it away, but Father insisted I go return it to him immediately. It was very strange._

_The train station was nearly 5 miles away and I had to go by foot. I chose not to explain that Mr. Mustang had probably left at the earliest possible convenience. Instead, I trudged the whole way. To my surprise, the trains had been delayed due to some malfunction of one of the trains. Mr. Mustang was one of the ones inconvenienced by the delay. He was standing by one of the large pillars, his rich eyes fixated on something in the distance. I think I startled him as bad as I had the other morning at breakfast. For all his surprise, he still smiled at me. When I explained the letter, he went mute. He opened it and read the contents, his jaw going slack._

_He must have read the letter four or five times before I made an attempt to excuse myself. He reached out, taking my hand.__I think I understand why people like to hold hands now.__The young ex-apprentice searched my face and asked if Father had actually given the letter to me and that he meant what I said. I could only assume he did. Mr. Mustang's face lit up and he grinned bigger than I'd ever seen him grin. I think if he wanted to, he could outshine the sun. He picked up his bags and tucked the letter inside a pocket. I think he realized that I didn't understand and he tapped the pocket. The letter was apparently from Father, saying he had passed whatever test he had put Mr. Mustang through the past 24 hours. Father wanted to keep him as an apprentice._

_Mr. Mustang was going to stay._

_We walked home together, and bantered the entire way. It turns out Mr. Mustang has also been studying some of the books I recommended when he first arrived. The walk back seemed much shorter, but I think it's just because I had already walked it once. Father must have fixed the refrigerator while we were gone, because the hum was barely noticeable when we got back. I made some stew, one of mom's old recipes, for dinner. He had come across it in his search for ingredients the other morning. I figured I could try one of the recipes again. Afterwards, Mr. Mustang and I shared the last peach on the back porch. I will have to get more tomorrow. The sun was setting, and the birds were singing some wonderful melodies. We sat in the receding light for a long time, and for once, he didn't seem to mind the silence._

_It looks like I'll have to get used to him being around for a few more days. I think I can deal with him for just a little while longer._


	8. Day 8: Eight Kinds of Kissing

_A/N: This was a short, sweet one that I wanted to write. I'm trying to make sure that these don't get too long. It's bad enough as it is. But enjoy!_

* * *

Roy Mustang had been kissed many times in his life. While much of his playboy nature was designed to disguise his informant meetings, he had done his share of dating. He noticed that there were lots of different types of kisses with different meanings and feelings behind each one. One of his first kisses was with a young girl when he was barely out of elementary school. He was playing 'house' and there was a moment of 'this is what parents do as part of being parents.' He forgot the girl's name, but he remembered that it felt weird and short and kind of wet.

Then, there were his kisses with the girl Leah in his 8th grade class, which had the strange taste of changing hormones and something deeper that he felt like he didn't quite get. He distinctly remembered the teasing they both got, and how embarrassed the girl was that he told everyone he had kissed a girl before anyone else. He mostly did it on a dare, but kind of liked the way her bright hazel eyes fluttered closed when she leaned into him. Roy wondered if kissing was supposed to make his heart thump wildly in his chest.

He first realized his love for kissing with Rosaline. The pretty girl at the bookstore was all wild hair and freckles, her mouth wide with laughter and sultry smirks. She was the first to teach him how to use his tongue, and where else he could practice his oral ministrations. He felt the stirrings of the deep, unquenchable fire in the pit of his stomach. It was the type of kissing that made the world spin like he had spent too much time on the dance floor. Roy was _really _fond of this kissing.

It wasn't until he met the daughter of his alchemy teacher when he found another, stranger occurrence. This wasn't the awkward, tentative locking of lips from his youth, nor was it driven by the testosterone-induced frenzy with Rosaline. Her fingers kissed the underside of his jaw, her mouth tracing the corner of his lips. It was a ghost of a kiss, something delicate and inquisitive and so completely _her_. It came after two years of quiet bonding with Riza Hawkeye. With one brush of her mouth against his, he felt the fierce desire to protect this fledging relationship with this unusual girl. They did not explore each other in the way he had with his last lover. For some reason, he did not think to push her further. This kissing was not insistent. It was like savoring a fine meal or an old book. It was strange, and Roy did not sleep that night. Not with the distinct taste of tea and honeysuckle tickling his tongue.

Before he left after her father's funeral, Roy came across the resigned, subdued kiss that preceded a painful goodbye. He almost wished she had been mad at him. It would've saved him from tasting the salt against her skin or the way she trembled against him like he had destroyed the foundation on which she had built her life. He nearly wished that she insisted he stay, so he could push against the woman she had become and forget how she fit into his arms as though they had been two people crafted from the same mold. It was the kind of kiss that lasted entirely too long and not nearly long enough. It left him aching in places he did not know existed. It was the only time he felt uncertain about his future and it was the only time he questioned whether or not he was doing the right thing. Roy did not like this kind of kissing.

In the years to come, Roy had to find creative ways to continue courting his Queen. The kisses of the beauties in his favorite bars were stale in comparison. During the military balls, he would catch sight of Riza Hawkeye, dressed in her high-necked finery. He learned to hold her hand like a butterfly, balancing her digits against his palm and sweeping his mouth against her knuckles. It was a kiss of propriety, of courteous respect. It was completely appropriate from a distance. But he could see the flash of defiance in her eyes, almost daring him to make it last longer. He felt her pulse jump against the pad of his thumb. It was an innocuous gesture, almost silly in comparison to his previous escapades. Still, there was a sense of danger and primal thrill he got every time. They had long since learned how to keep from blushing. They knew how to avoid unnecessary contact. So this small victory, this small reminder of the history they shared and the future they planned was enough to keep him going when his bed felt too cold and big for just him.

Then there was the kiss that happened late at night, after half a bottle of whiskey and a hard-won victory. When everyone had left or fallen asleep, it was just the two of them and the unspoken feelings that hung heavy in the air. It was the kiss that neither one of them had anticipated, but once it started they couldn't stop it. It tasted of liquor and something dark and distinct that washed over him like the changing tide. Her body fit into his like she had never left and they crashed together with the reckless abandon of two young lovers. Roy was heady with emotions and a forgotten fervor that swept him up and made him senseless. It was the kind of kiss that she would forget in the morning, leaving him to wonder if he was relieved or a little emptier because of it.

Finally, there was the kind of kiss they shared when they had finished. This kiss came after he was sworn into office, when they had achieved their dreams. He had watched her, her face shining with joy and pride in their shared accomplishments. In the private moments after the ceremony, she had pulled him aside to congratulate him. He had kissed her then, reveling for the first time in the freedom his position brought him. Nearly 20 years of history sliced through the electric contact they made. It was rich and full of a complete understanding of the other person. It was the kiss that made him understand what it meant to be someone's other half. Altogether, the kiss was brief. They still had a dinner to attend and people to greet. But their short moment was a promise. A promise of what was to come that night. A promise of what his new dream would be. A promise of the future they had to deny themselves for so long. That, Roy realized, was his favorite kiss of all.


	9. Day 9: Nine Unspoken Rules

_A/N: This one is a__ little piece about the first few months returning from the war. They weren't always so good at maintaining their professionalism._

* * *

It wasn't always easy, keeping his distance from her. During Ishval, they never really talked about it. About them. Then again, wartime is a completely different beast. The rules on the battlefield are blurred and the need to survive overrides everything else. When the war ended and they returned to normal life, there were some adjustments that had to be made.

First things first, they couldn't use their first names. Calling her Riza warmed his throat and felt like a song as it rolled off his tongue. It always surprised her, when he called her that. He would see the way her eyes would cloud with emotion and he would long to touch her until the only thing those amber depths would reflect what he knew he felt.

Which was another thing, he recalled. They couldn't touch. Mercifully, their uniforms were much too long for any accidental skin-on-skin contact. Roy wasn't sure what chemicals her alabaster skin was made of, but it wasn't something normal humans were made of. Every time his calloused hands grazed hers, it was like an electric current that burned him in ways his fire never could. She would pause, as if processing the way he felt. It was like it was some rare gift to feel him against her, even if for only a moment in the tiniest of ways. He supposed they would have to take what they would get.

Gifts. He couldn't give her personal gifts, either. During her first birthday after Ishval, he had pulled her aside and handed her a small box. She had gasped, her fingers handling the delicate necklace. The way the tears sprung to her eyes and the way she let out a little puff of air sent delicious shivers down his spine. Even her frown as she berated him for getting her something so wonderful filled him with pleasure. He did not realize, in the days afterward, how much he would want to unbutton the top of her uniform to see if he could see the metallic gleam of the honeysuckle pendant against her black turtleneck. He would sit, mesmerized, when she touched her collarbone as she worked if she was thinking about him. He thought about her. He always thought about her.

He thought about her late at night, which is why she would have to stop showing up at his place at midnight, her features drawn and her strong shoulders weighed down by ghosts from sandy ruins miles away from Central. Roy didn't know if she had chosen the tight, revealing top and shorts to torture him, or if it was the only thing that was in the general vicinity of her bed as she left her apartment. She claimed Black Hayate needed a walk. He conveniently forgot that the small dog only went to the bathroom at 6am and 6pm, as militaristic and disciplined as his master. He conveniently forgot the last time he saw so much of her thigh or how empty his bed was at the moment. He settled with a cup of tea and the sound of her voice against his skin.

She'd have to stop bringing up Ishval. Roy refused to talk about it when he didn't have to. The guilt ate away at him, like a festering wound. Late at night, he couldn't run from the vivid memories of the war. Riza's cup quaked in her hand as she brought up Kimblee's words, the very words he imagined stirred her from sleep. He felt too vulnerable, too weak to resist her. She had asked him if he could reconcile it – the pride of the power they wielded and the shame of how they were forced to use it. It was a question they had both struggled with since they returned. He still didn't know. Her hand found his, rousing him out of his daydreaming. If Ishval was the wound, she was the salve. Her lips sterilized his mind and her embrace cleansed his soul.

If they wanted to maintain a professional relationship, they would certainly have to stop sleeping together. The sex was amazing. He'd always known it would be. There was something entirely different about his experience with her than every other woman he'd known. They clung to each other in the darkness, letting the nightmares ebb away under the white hot heat of their bodies meshing. They did not speak; she did not whisper his name in the throes of their passion. Somehow, they both understood that by doing so, it would ruin whatever they had. This couldn't continue and they knew it, so they lost themselves in each other while they could. Maybe then, when they went back to work the next morning, they could imagine it was just another stranger in their bed the night before.

He would have to stop bringing up, then, when he spotted her in the restaurant downtown with some guy he'd never met before. Roy didn't know what he expected to hear her say when he asked about this person who dared to know her as intimately as he did. He certainly didn't want to hear her clipped tone as she explained that the guy's name was "Robert" and he was "a wonderful man." Roy also didn't want to know that she was going on a second date with him that night. The jealousy that tasted like bile in his throat was a hard thing to temper. He was as volatile as the fire he commanded, and it was difficult to hide his irrational anger from his team in his office. He could not tell what was more troublesome – the way Riza hummed the next morning as she walked into work or the way the sight of him wiped that rare smile off her face as quickly as it had come.

He rarely argued with her in any serious manner, but when he brought up their future, their fragile calm had snapped. Roy would never forget the way she whirled on him, her eyes bright and her teeth bared. Much later, when he had stopped seeing red, he would know she was right. He had no claim to her, no right to own her heart. Not when he chose to follow his ambitions before anything else. She cried, not the obnoxious, nose-running sobs. He almost would have preferred that. It would make it easier to convince him she was being unreasonable. But the single stream of tears that spilled over her face stripped him raw. He knew what he asked of her. She would follow him to hell, but that didn't mean she didn't have her own needs. His dreams to shape the country would not keep her warm at night. He could not ask her to wait for him, to remain chaste until after he attended to his other priorities. The deafening silence that stretched between them was almost too much to bear. Riza left him that night, and Roy could only think that he had given her yet another scar she would have to heal on her own.

Above all, Roy would have to stop apologizing. He would look at her, her frustration brimming just beneath the surface with tight lips. All she had to do was open her mouth and he would crumble. The tattered remains of his sanity clung to the hope she could forgive him. He wanted to reach out to her, just to hold her and taste her again. He wanted to buy her gifts that would make her sob that obnoxious, nose-running type of cry. He wanted to throw down his walls and lay everything that was housed in his heart on the table for her to see. He wanted to tell her that there was no one else but her and she was his life, his everything, his Riza. He wanted to banish all other thoughts from her mind so she could just begin to understand the extent of his love for her. Instead, he muttered a useless "sorry," unable to even look her in the eye. She did not speak until he flicked his gaze back up to her face. She had looked so beautiful then, the anger dissipating from her like a candle being doused. "I know," she replied. Roy realized, then, that she did. Perhaps she always had.


	10. Day 10: Ten Things Riza Hates About Roy

_A/N: I am SO sorry about the delay! I thought I would have this finished before I left, but I did not! I was out of the country on vacation for three weeks, with like, no wifi. Thank you to my lovely reviewers and everyone who has favorited/followed this story. I start my big-girl job next week, so I am going to try and have this done before that really kicks in. I have a couple other ideas I wanted to get written, too, so my goal is to get that done as well. In the meantime, enjoy this piece! I wanted to base it off the poem from 10 Things I Hate About You (which has more than 10 things, can I point out? It was kind of difficult making it into ten. I combined/deleted some of the parts of the poem to make it fit. Enjoy!)_

* * *

Some days, Riza hated Roy Mustang. If she was a poet, she would write rhyming verse that wicked away her anger and left her eyes tired. If she was a singer, she would belt lilting lyrics that would lift her spirits until her throat went hoarse. But Riza was neither of those things, and her Colonel left her digging her heels together in a stiff attention.

She hates the way he talks to her. He barks orders like there isn't 12 years of history between them. The tone he uses to send her on the latest assignment is the kind usually reserved for a pet, a dog to be commanded. There is no trace of the tenderness that clings to the Colonel's seductive exchanges with his many female companions. She should not notice. She should not compare his lover's voice to the clipped, authoritative timber he uses in the office. But she does. It should not bother her, but she is not nearly is complacent as she likes to appear.

She hates the way he cuts his hair. He always seems to mess with it – fiddling with the asymmetrical tendrils when he is deep in thought. His fingers catch in the strands as he shoves it out of his face, and Riza's fingers twitch unconsciously. It reminds her of another time, a distant memory where those same locks littered her bathroom sink. She was much younger then, and she reveled in the afternoons where she helped a young apprentice trim his unmanageable fringe. Briefly, she wonders how he tames it now. She wonders who has been in his bathroom to see if he cleaned up the mess his scissors made. If she were a stronger woman, she wouldn't feel the sour taste of jealousy in her throat. If she were bolder, perhaps she could be the one pushing his bangs out of his eyes. Instead, she hands him a fresh set of forms, resigned to steal glances as the sun reflects against the crown of his head.

She hates it when he stares. He can pin down whomever he watches with a single look. It sets her on fire and consumes her, whether she wants it to or not. When she walks into the office, she feels the burn of his eyes as he drinks her in. He halts her with a single look when they meet for an assignment. She cannot ignore it. She cannot escape it. He does not need to open his mouth to ask 1,001 questions. They can have an entire conversation without saying a word. If she let her mind wander, she would wonder what it felt like to have him look at her like that underneath her sheets. Would she feel the same intensity as she does now? Sometimes, she wishes he were blind so she wouldn't feel the focused heat of his gaze. Maybe then she would stop picturing him studying the rest of her with such scrutiny. Maybe then she could stop imagining the wordless exchange they would have behind closed doors. She does not know why his eyes conjure the stirring images in her mind. She only knows that they entice her as much as they repulse her.

She really hates his big, dumb combat boots. She trips over them when she walks into his apartment. They are the first thing that cues her in on the trail of clothing leading to his bedroom. They are large and obtrusive, so starkly different from the strappy heels strewn next to them. Her stomach feels as heavy as the steel-toed shoes when she realizes why he missed half the workday. Riza tries to disregard the way her own boots thud against the floor as she walks – a reminder of the life she chose. They represent the parts of her she had to give up – all for him. She feels bitter as he stumbles out of his room, draped in his bed sheets. He can read her open expression in the half-second before she controls herself once more. He knows exactly what she is thinking when the lovely, petite brunette makes her departure. Roy looks guilty. She does not ask for an apology. He does not offer one. A superior officer does not need to beg forgiveness from a subordinate. Foolishly, she yearns for one anyways.

She hates even more so that he's always right. He stands behind her at the firing range as she unloads another clip. His voice is quiet and stern. He tells her she is pushing herself too hard, that even the infamous Hawk's Eye needs a day off. He notices the fatigue settling into her muscles. She prays he mistakes her trembling for exhaustion and not a primal reaction to how close he suddenly is to her. She wants to argue. Riza wants to punch the concerned frown off his face and let him know precisely how capable she is. But the fear from the latest close call has seized her strength and knotted in the expanse of her back. She resents how thoroughly he understands her. It frustrates her when he orders her to go home early. He does not have a right to know her so well. He does not deserve to know how unnerved she was being so close to death again. In a moment of weakness, she wants to ask him to come with her, so she knows he'll still be there when she wakes up. But if she were to ask, he'd refuse. He would say she was just his Lieutenant and their relationship didn't require anything more from him. He would be right.

Riza hates when he lies. Years of practice have made him immune to the shame of the act. The lie rolls off his tongue like a caress. It's so innocuous that she almost misses it. His cocky grin masks the truth and shortens her fuse. Years of building trust on and off the battlefield are put on hold as she sorts out his words, hearing the blood rush in her ears. He changes the subject too quickly, directing their conversation to safer waters. She doesn't know why he won't tell her where he really was the night before, but she is wounded either way. Riza justifies her vexation because she needs to trust her fellow soldiers completely. It has nothing to do with the smell of a woman's perfume on his jacket or the faint red mark that pokes out above his collar. She tries not to ask any questions about the red head who inquired after him at the front desk that afternoon. She tells herself that it's for his protection that she wants to press the issue. It is about trust. It is about loyalty. If she tried hard enough, maybe she would believe her own lie. Maybe one day, she would be as practiced as her Colonel in the art of deception.

He makes her laugh, and she hates him for that, too. On days when she can finally separate her feelings and her duty, when she can stand next to him and not feel his magnetic pull, he makes her laugh. It's always something small, some little antic they both notice. He looks sideways at her, his genuine smile slipping onto his face, and instantly they're both giggling. They do not laugh loudly, or obnoxiously. It is a soft chuckle that seems far too intimate to be between an adjutant and her colonel. It is a private laugh, meant to be between the two of them. It is the laugh that brings her feelings bubbling back up to the surface, too swift for her to stop. She can't breathe and her sides hurt, but not in the way she had expected. Because his laugh lances through her and tastes sweeter than she remembered. For that, he makes her cry. Not then, when she basks in the warmth of the moment. But later, when she stands in her shower and tries to scrub away his hold on her. She cries because she is sick of feeling him in her every pore, completely overwhelming her. Riza promised to follow him into hell. She swore to protect him. She just wished she could protect her heart at the same time.

Despite the contradiction, she hates when he's not around. His presence is stifling, but his absence is unbearable. A hundred words perch on the tip of her tongue as he leaves, determined to make him stay. She can't protect him when he's not beside her. She can't keep him on his path if she isn't one step behind him. Still, he goes, and she worries. At least when he's in the room, she can excuse her complete fixation on him. When he's close enough for his cologne to wash against her senses, she can explain how any other thoughts leave her. By herself, in the darkness of her apartment, she has to confront reality on her own. She has built her life around him, has sculpted her future based on his dreams. If she was honest, she would know that she should do something for herself. If she was smart, she would stop staring at the empty chair across from her. If she was a little more sober, she would stop seeing him in her doorway. But she isn't, and the night is harder because of it.

She shouldn't hate him for not calling, but she does. When she misses work for what feels like the first time in years, she hoped – no _expected _– a call from him. She waits for a ring from her phone, but the only sound in the tiny flat is the sound of her racking cough. Riza does not like to dwell on self-loathing. It does not become her. But when she can barely make it to the kitchen before nearly passing out, she realizes how utterly alone she is. She hates her Colonel for taking up all of her. She hates him for giving her no choice to devote herself to him. She hates herself for not being able to fit anyone else in her life. Because his dream comes first and it's something they both accepted a long time ago. That dream won't make her tea. That dream won't give him time to call and check on her. That dream shouldn't make her taste bile and heartbreak. She wished she could go back and time and change her answer. She wished she could shake the younger Riza and tell her to get out while she can. But she wouldn't. Even now, Riza knew there was never any choice. Not with him.

It's early that evening when she knows what she hates most about Roy Mustang. She is sitting up in bed when she hears the strong rap against the door. Black Hayate barks. Her hand reaches for the pistol on her nightstand. She's halfway out of bed when the door opens and she sees him. Any ragged breath she has leaves her. Her Colonel is standing there with medication and take-out, his features drawn with concern. Before she has a chance to murmur more than a startled "Colonel," he is over her, easing her back to bed and showering her with medicine and attention and that distinct masculine smell of his. His voice is low, like a cool spring against her feverish skin. He stays with her all evening, leaving her side only to bring her more water or to turn on the fan. He apologizes for not calling, for not coming sooner. She hates that he does this. She hates how relieved she is to be looking at him and feeling his hand against her forehead. She hates that even after everything they've been through, all the mess he's put her through, that she can't really hate him. Not even close. Not even a little bit.


	11. Day 11: Eleven Gun Salute

_A/N: Thank you to the anonymous person who suggested the 11 Gun Salute. It is the ceremonial salute given to Generals in the US Army. So, please enjoy. :) Sorry about so many delays. Day 12 should be up much faster. _

* * *

It was a perfect day. Thunder rolled in the distance and the rain fell in fat droplets, but for once Roy Mustang did not feel useless. His Lieutenant – no his Captain now – waited for him outside their car with an umbrella and a look that was altogether unlike her. Her eyes were alight with anticipation, her lips quirking upwards ever so slightly. Her dress uniform looked even more crisp than usual, her breast gleaming with all the medals and pins she'd received over her career. It was almost as impressive as his collection now.

The drive over was quiet, thick with tension and so many words they didn't know how to convey. Hawkeye still drove for the both of them. His eyes hadn't fully recovered yet. Roy still had lingering migraines and his adjutant refused to let him operate heavy machinery while she was present. Since she never seemed to leave his side anymore (as if she had ever given him time alone before), he was resigned to the passenger seat. He couldn't really complain. After several months of darkness, he was pleased to have more time to reacquaint his memory with the curve of her jaw and the way her uniform brought out the brightness of her eyes. It was certainly more entertaining than squinting through the gray sheets of rain.

She seemed to sense his fixation on her, and he watched the color rise to her cheeks. He loved being able to see the way her eyebrows drew together and how her breath hitched in her chest. Her eyes flicked over to him before turning back to the road. Did he ever truly appreciate the natural grace that she carried? How had he forgotten the way her head tilted when she was in thought?

"Sir?"

Her tone had dropped considerably, something she did when she wanted to say something important. Sometimes he wondered if she knew exactly what he thought when her voice deepened like that. There wasn't a woman in all of Amestris who could get such a rise out of him with just one syllable. She didn't have to know alchemy to conjure the intense heat that gathered in his stomach like the rolling clouds overhead. They didn't have to say it. They both knew what today meant, for them and their dream. Then, whatever came after.

"Captain?"

She sat straighter in her seat, if that was even possible. She looked at him again, something electric passing between them. The car was suddenly too hot, too cramped, and the distance between them far too vast for Roy's liking. He couldn't tell if the rapid thrumming was the rain or his heart. He had to tell her. He had spent too much of his life silent. Too much time had already been wasted.

"We're here."

It took him a moment to realize that she had stopped the car already. Roy dropped the hand he hadn't noticed he'd risen (To grasp her hand? To cup her face? He guessed he'd never know). The moment passed, the words on his tongue wicked away as they stepped out of the car. The parade grounds were filled with military officials, all wearing their dress blues. He knew he should go greet them, to start the endless stream of pleasantries and congratulations. But there was only one officer he cared about at the moment.

"Sir?"

There it was again, his siren's call. He briefly wondered if it would ever stop sending those delicious chills down his spine. Roy looked back at her, feeling her undeniable pull. He had never quite figured out how to resist her. Maybe he didn't need to tell her. Maybe she already knew. She had to know.

"I'll meet you here afterwards."

"Understood. Thank you, Captain."

They looked at each other again, for much longer than was appropriate for a superior and his subordinate, before he headed to the stage. The rain beat against the tin roof, sounding very much like a war drum. It wasn't long until everyone filed into place and the ceremonies began. He had never really cared much for all the pomp and circumstance when someone was promoted to General. He was always prone to zoning out, but when he caught sight of his favorite blonde, he could focus on nothing else.

She was carrying her rifle along with ten other officers. As the ceremony progressed, they formed a line and mounted their guns. He stepped forward, receiving a new insignia from General Grumman. They fired - an 11-gun salute for a newly minted General. He watched her lower her rifle, as fluid as a dancer. He wondered if she had flinched, just the same as he did. He wondered if she knew how close they had come to hearing a squad of soldiers fire their guns simultaneously for an entirely different ceremonial purpose. As he stepped back into place, he thought about the way his blood would have smeared across the parade grounds, to atone for the lives they destroyed so many years ago. They came so close, but they had made it. Despite all odds, they had made it.

He waited until she met his gaze, her expression equal parts serious and proud. She was thrilled. She was grateful. She understood.

Roy suffered through the polite clapping, the jokes and the congratulations from what felt like every officer in all of Central. Soldier after soldier came up to applaud him (or in Olivier's case, gripe about how anyone could become General these days). All except for one. By the time he got back to the car, he half expected her to be frustrated with how long he had been delayed. She clicked her heels together and saluted him.

"Welcome back, _General Mustang_." Her voice was lilting. She was teasing him. He could kiss her right then. Her mouth curled into a small smile and it took all he had not to taste the tilt of her lips. The rain had eased, and a faint mist covered the grounds. They could still be seen, however, so he clamped his mouth shut and nodded, swallowing the desire that threatened to overcome him. There would be time, soon, to discuss the magnetic shift in their relationship. He would not rest until she understood the warmth that spread through his chest like a wildfire when she was near. He was a General now, with rumors of his running for presidency stirring in the city. He would need a wife, a first lady to support him during his campaign. There was only one woman who could fit the job description. She must know that. She had to know.

If she didn't, he would certainly fix that.


	12. Day 12: Twelve Words Roy Wanted to Say

_A/N: Slightly inspired off of yurtletheturtle's Selfish Favors. I really like that headcanon, and decided to usurp it for myself. With a slightly different approach. I am pretty surprised I busted the last two days in one day. This was a fun exercise. Now onto the next! :) Enjoy!_

* * *

In truth, Roy never thought he would be able to accomplish his goals. It's not that he doubted himself. Roy contained a very healthy dose of ego. It was just that he had spent his entire life trying to get where he was now – and it just hadn't quite been able to sink in yet. But here he was, promoted to General and preparing to run for President. They were in the process of reforming the Amestrian Military and repairing the infrastructure of the company. He wanted a better future for his country and its people, and now that time was here.

It hadn't been easy, of course. He had last many friends and people along the way. But he hadn't lost everyone. He looked over at the blonde sharpshooter cleaning her gun. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and teased the edge of her tank top. Her legs were drawn up lazily on her seat as she glided through her evening routine of dismantling her personal firearm. Her lashes quivered and she looked up at him, as if sensing his attention. The edge of her mouth twitched upwards in a curious half smile. He never realized just how much her presence filled his small apartment until suddenly she was there, smiling quietly at him. It seemed so _full_with her there.

It was still strange to see her so casual. She wasn't working under him anymore, not since his promotion and her transfer to a new department. That meant they could see each other now without any legal repercussions. While they had never officially announced their relationship to anyone, it didn't take long for people to notice how quickly their entirely un-professional romance blossomed.

That had been nearly three months ago. Roy was getting nervous. He didn't know why he was so desperate to solidify things between them. He hardly had any reason to worry. He was just as much a part of her as she was a part of him. He reached into his pocket, fiddling with the hidden contents. Roy knew what she was to him. He knew she was in it for the long haul. But still, he needed to be sure.

"Riza."

Her name still tasted foreign on his tongue. It was like stretching a muscle he had nearly forgotten how to use. A small part of him was pleased that she still blushed when he called her by her first name. She seemed to understand that his tone was much more serious than usual, and she set her gun down, giving him her full attention.

Roy suddenly felt rather unprepared. The words he had practiced over and over stuck like molasses in his throat. "I- well, you know, the presidency, and I mean-"

Riza wiped her hands on her towel, her smile tugging back down into a confused frown. "Are you alright?" she asked.

Roy swore quietly and took a breath. "Riza. You know I'm planning on running for presidency, right?" he tried again, clearing his throat.

Riza set the towel down, sighing quietly. "Yes, that's something we both discussed a while ago. Has something changed?"

"Yes- well, no, I mean, nothing's changed. But there's, ah, something I have been considering for a while now." He paused, glancing up at the ceiling. He had taken on an army of immortal beings, but couldn't talk to the woman he'd spent over half of his life with. What was _wrong_with him? She waited expectantly, her amber eyes calculating and trying to work out his latest mood.

"According to most of Central, I'm still a bachelor. I still have a _reputation,_so to speak, of being a ladies' man. It's not becoming of a future President to be solo. Women will be clamoring to settle down with such a powerful man."

Riza's eyes narrowed suddenly, her posture tightening and her lips pursing. "I see."

_Gods above._Roy stood, closing the distance between them and grasping her hand. "That's not what I mean, Riza. I just, I want them to know that I've already found someone. I want them to know that I've chosen _you_. That is, if you'll have me."

Roy sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself. His heart pounded wildly in his chest and his throat felt tight and thick with emotion. He looked hard into Riza's eyes, kneeling in front of her. She knew. If she didn't know before, she knew now. He kept barreling through. "I know this is new, it's something we're still figuring out one day at a time, but I just- I want to know it's something we'll be figuring out together for the rest of our lives. There's no one else who will ever be able to be up to the task of being my other half."

"Roy-" she whispered. Roy withdrew the small black box out of his pocket.

"I've always had your back, and now I'm asking for your hand."

He waited as Riza looked at the gleaming diamond ring in his hand, her eyes wide. She did not breathe for a long time and Roy started to get uncomfortable. "Riza if you-"

She covered his hand with hers, a small smile gracing her face. "I've already followed you to hell and back. I think I can handle being married to you."

The relief Roy felt was palpable as he pulled her into a fierce embrace. She laughed breathlessly, pulling away just enough to kiss him. She tasted like honeysuckle and something sunny and warm and he was hopelessly addicted. As he slipped the ring on her finger and the rest of her clothes off, Roy could only wonder how he had managed to have a woman as remarkable as her. He was a man with hands so dirty he could never truly clean them. He would spend the rest of his life atoning for the atrocities he had committed. As his lips trailed down the flat expanse of his fiancé's stomach, he swore that he would continue to pursue her as fiercely as the rest of his dream.

They were both damaged, flawed creatures. Her hands caressed the scars on his side. His fingers traced over the burn wounds on her back. They had both done things they were ashamed of, things they did not like to speak about. If his hands were dirty, then so were hers. They bathed in each other's presence, and that was enough. She was enough. She always had been.


End file.
